


Ashes Denote That Fire Was

by Cogan



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Detective Noir, Film Noir, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27898933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cogan/pseuds/Cogan
Summary: Detective Cole Phelps makes a fateful decision that alters the course of events and impacts the lives of those around him.
Kudos: 6





	Ashes Denote That Fire Was

ASHES denote that fire was;

Respect the grayest pile

For the departed creature’s sake

That hovered there awhile.

\- Emily Dickinson

6005 West Sunset Boulevard

10:42 PM

The black Buick Super pulled over to the side of the road several metres back from the taxi. Both vehicles idled at the edge of the curb while a steady stream of nighttime, Los Angeles traffic cruised on by. The glare of red tail lights flashed across the windshield. Cole Phelps watched as Elsa emerged from the back of the tax as elegant and poised as ever. His fingers gripped the steering wheel.

A couple weeks ago, Phelps’ first big case as part of the Vice Squad was investigating a pair of overdoses caused by government-issue morphine that had ended up on the streets. He and his partner, Roy Earle, discovered that the morphine had originally been stolen from a freighter ship, the _SS Coolridge_ , but they were unable to find out who had carried out the heist. In the end, the two Vice detectives busted a couple low level dealers and were eventually able to track down and confiscate the entire stash of morphine.

Or rather, they thought they had tracked it down until this morning. A shooting at a local club not only revealed the morphine was still being distributed but that it was former members of Cole’s marine unit in the war that were responsible for the original theft of the shipment. How many were actually involved, he didn’t know. What he did know was that the violence would continue to escalate if they couldn’t put a stop to it. Looking into a pair of musicians that had also been gunned down had once again led Cole to The Blue Room.

It had been almost six hours since Phelps had questioned Elsa Lichtmann at the jazz club. It had not gone as he had expected. Despite the weeks and months of after shift visits to the Blue Room watching her sing, watching… her, the response to his interrogation had been downright hostile. It was nothing like Cole had imagined and his frustration and anger only grew as she rebuked each question he threw at her.

Had the fault been his though? Phelps had fired questions at her like he did during any interrogation, doing what was necessary to get the information he needed to do his job. But he got nothing out of it. It was like banging his head against a brick wall. A brick wall that was German and sung sultry jazz. Just as he had tried to shut off his personal feelings to interrogate her like any other suspect, Elsa had responded to him as she would with any other cop.

Maybe what he had to do was remove that veneer of the LAPD detective, Cole reasoned. To be himself, whoever that was without his badge, and talk to Elsa the person rather than the suspect.

_Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, partner._ The words echoed in his ear, a salmon-suited devil on his shoulder. Or was it an angel? Cole’s knuckles went white on the door handle, caught between following her into the building and staying put. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

Everything had changed once he had returned. Or had it been when he’d stepped onto that boat and left? The war had changed everything. When he returned things had never been the same between him and Marie. Or more honestly, things had never been the same with Cole. There were so many things he wanted to say to Marie, to explain to her, but she could never understand. The things he had seen and done were unfathomable to those who hadn’t been there.

The things Cole couldn’t find at home he found almost nightly at the Blue Room, in Elsa. Ever since Roy had taken him and Stefan there that first time back in January, when Phelps had received his promotion to Burglary. He also remembered the first time he had gone on his own accord. It had been after he cracked his first burglary case with his then new partner, Harry Caldwell, when a priceless statuette had been stolen from the French consulate in L.A. A week of investigating had led them straight to the culprits and air-tight convictions. It was an open-and-shut case through and through…

… and yet afterwards, rather than heading home after triumphantly solving his first official burglary, Cole found himself aimlessly cruising the streets of Los Angeles. Despite his success he felt empty. He felt things weren’t quite right. So he kept driving, turning this way and that without a thought to where he was going. Blue neon light washed over his windshield and he slammed on the brakes. A horn blared as the car behind Cole swerved to narrowly avoid him. But he couldn’t stop looking at the sign of The Blue Room. Before he knew it, Cole was walking through the front doors. Since that February night, it felt like he had never truly stepped back out.

With a tremendous amount of effort, as though it were moving against the tide of fate itself, Cole removed his shaking hand from the car door and placed it back on the steering wheel. It could wait until tomorrow, Cole thought. He would follow up in his capacity as a detective because, as much as he might want to deny it, that’s what he was through and through. As a partner, as a person, and as a husband. Phelps took a deep breath, turned the ignition, and pulled away from the curb.

Cole closed the car door behind him as he got out. No longer downtown, the street was lined with suburban homes. Houses with well kept lawns and darkened windows where families now slumbered safe and sound. The porch light to one of them was still on. Phelps strode up the walkway and up the front steps.

His hand went for the handle but the door swung into the house before he could reach it. Marie was standing there in the doorway. Cole would have expected his breath to catch in his chest or his stomach to drop but he felt neither. That had always been the problem when it came to talking, when it came to coming home. Phelps would always rather feel the pang of guilt in his heart than the deafening void of numbness. Yet here he was again.

“Cole.” That’s all she said. Her voice wasn’t unwelcoming, but it lacked the warmth that came from too many dinners missed, too many dance recitals unattended, and too many late nights. The sound of his name held months of doubt and unasked questions.

There were things he had to tell Marie, things he would explain. She didn’t need to understand. Saying them would be enough.

_Before…_

The Buick’s lights flashed on and the engine rumbled to life. Leaning against a street lamp across the road, he watched as the car pulled away from the sidewalk and into the night. The man took one last drag of his cigarette and flicked it down on the pavement. He didn’t bother stubbing it out.

Roy Earle felt an odd mix of emotions. He thought he’d found the one vice of LAPD’s star detective. _Apparently he’s as golden as they say,_ he thought to himself with a rueful smirk.

On the one hand he was seriously annoyed that Phelps hadn’t taken the bait. He didn’t think Cole would have taken to her after their first introduction, her sobbing and getting drugged up by the doc in her dressing room. Even when she went on for her set that night the newly promoted detective seemed ambivalent. But then he had spotted Cole again at the Blue Room a couple weeks later, then again and again. Always when that junkie broad took the stage. Roy knew it then - Phelps was hooked on her. It was Earle’s ace in the hole, his ticket to the top if things ever went awry. If there were a moment that the detective was going to go for it, that was it. But he hadn’t.

On the other hand, he was oddly proud of the kid. If he had followed her upstairs his life would have been destroyed in an instant and his marriage ruined. Roy liked Cole, he really did, and he had to give him credit where credit was due. It was neither of their faults for the positions they were in. It was all strictly business. There were certain scales that had to be balanced and, being Cole’s partner, Roy was in a fortunate position to tip them in his favour.

No such luck this time. Roy shrugged to himself as he walked back around the block to where his car was parked. He was fine throwing his partner under the bus, but he wasn’t going to go out of his way to drive it himself.

The powers that be would just have to sort their own mess out this time. They always did find a way.


End file.
